


Astronomy In Reverse: Excerpt 1

by pansley



Series: Winter!Dad [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Gratuitous Superfamily, Kid Fic, M/M, Peter is canonly adorkable, Steve just trying his best, Superfamily
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-07-29 18:15:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16269692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pansley/pseuds/pansley
Summary: An excerpt from Astronomy In Reverse where Steve tries to parent Peter, and Bucky has a conniption.





	Astronomy In Reverse: Excerpt 1

**Author's Note:**

> So my tumblr got nixed (here's a [link](https://salssexyfanfictions.tumblr.com/post/178565674880/message-from-pansleyfics?is_liked_post=1#notes) if you want to hear the story, and a big thanks to my friend Sal for letting me post it on their tumblr). Luckily for those of you who were begging for it, this means I'm moving my excerpts here until I get my blog back.
> 
> (I'm putting the final touches on chapter 11 as we speak.)

“You don’t have to walk me to school—to the subway, I mean,” Peter says, his cheeks reddening a bit as he slips his backpack on. “Not—not that I don’t want you to, or anything! I think it’ll be fun, just, like, don’t feel obligated, you know? I can find my way.”

“I know you can,” Steve replies, smiling as he pulls the door closed and locks it. “But I want to. Buck told me he used to walk you to the station on his way to work, right? I think he misses being able to do that. Honestly, it’s more for his sake than yours. But I’m happy to get to spend time with you, too.”

Peter smiles, a little shy and embarrassed as they make their way out of the apartment building. Autumn is in full swing and the wind is cold and bracing, messing up his already-unruly curls, which Bucky had spent so many minutes futilely trying to tame this morning before he left for work.

They make idle chat as they walk, Steve mostly asking Peter about his classes and his friends, and the conversation feels light and comfortable; familial, which Steve is grateful for. It always feels like this when it’s the three of them—the domestic atmosphere so easy to fall into when Bucky is around. The relationship between Bucky and Peter is so natural and comfortable that Steve has no trouble being sucked into it, embracing it like it’s his own, too. Like he belongs.

It’s taken a lot longer to cultivate something similar between just him and Peter, by themselves. Not that they don’t get along—on the contrary; Steve doesn’t think there’s a decent person on this planet who wouldn’t love spending time with this kid—but to become close enough to Peter that he can think of him as his own son, too, and not just the son of his boyfriend, has understandably taken some time and effort.

Steve’s glad they’ve grown close enough that he no longer feels awkward about parenting Peter. It makes it so much easier to grab him by the hood of his sweatshirt and gently pull him back onto the sidewalk when he tries to veer off the path.

“Don’t even think about it,” he says, moving his hand to cup the back of Peter’s neck, keeping him moving forward when he tries to squirm away. “You don’t have time to dawdle, Peter. You’ll miss the train.”

“But— _but—_ ” Peter protests, trying to swivel his head, to turn around as a whine sounds from behind them. “But—Steve, the _dog!”_

“He’ll still be there when you get off school, Peter. He lives there.”

“But—but he’s _sad!”_

As if on cue, the dog’s whining turns into a loud, whimpering bark the further away they get. Steve’s exasperated expression turns into a suspicious frown, successfully hiding his inner amusement.

“He does seem awfully sad you didn’t say hi,” he says, thoughtfully, looking down at Peter with one eyebrow raised. “Have you been feeding him?”

“Uhh…” Peter says, obviously stalling. His face pales a little. “…Maybe?”

Steve sighs. “Where did you get the dog food?”

“Uhm… I… I bought it?”

“Peter,” Steve admonishes, giving the boy a stern look. “You shouldn’t be spending your allowance like that. Not to mention, some owners are very strict about what they want their pets to eat. Did you _ask_ before you started feeding that stranger’s dog?”

Peter shakes his head, looking thoroughly chastised and ashamed. “No,” he softly mumbles. “I just wanted to be his friend.”

The quiet admission leaves Steve feeling a little guilty, but it’s overshadowed by another incredulous epiphany. “And how many friends have you been trying to make on your way to school every day?”

The boy’s face reddens until it matches his hoodie, as bright red and vibrant as a firetruck. “Uhm,” he stutters, clearly debating whether to be honest or not. “Uh… a couple.”

“How many is ‘a couple’?”

“Like…” Peter says, embarrassment painting his face. “Like… twelve?”

Eyes narrowing, Steve stares down at Peter reproachfully, but the boy merely hunches his shoulders and keeps his eyes shamefully on the pavement. “Peter,” he says, tone overflowing with disappointment. “How have you possibly had enough time to feed _twelve dogs_ on your way to the subway every morning? Have you been showing up late for school?”

“No!” Peter objects, voice high and defensive. “I—I promise I haven’t been late.”

“Really?” Steve replies with obvious doubt. “You’ve made it to the station on time every single morning?”

“No…” Peter confesses, sad and guilty. He hazards a quick glance up at Steve’s narrowed eyes, then promptly lowers them back to the ground. “I’ve… had to web my way there… more than once.”

“Peter!”

“I’m sorry!” he says, voice high and eyes wide. “I can’t help it! There’s—there’s just _so many dogs!”_

“Well, enough is enough,” Steve says firmly, finally releasing his hold on the boy’s neck as they reach the mouth of the stairwell that leads to the station. “You should know better, Peter. Getting to school on time— _without_ recklessly drawing attention to yourself—should be your priority every morning, not spending time with dogs.”

“And a cat,” Peter adds, then quickly averts his gaze in shame when Steve glowers at him disapprovingly. “I’m sorry,” he says again, eyes downcast. “I didn’t mean to make you mad.”

“You didn’t make me mad,” Steve sighs, fighting to keep his stern expression in the presence of Peter’s big, sad eyes. “Just don’t do it again, okay?”

Hesitating, Peter nervously shifts from one foot to the other, hands fisted in the straps of his backpack. He still won’t meet Steve’s gaze, and the man sighs again, resisting the urge to just let the boy off the hook. “Hand them over.”

“Huh?” Peter asks, finally looking up at him, quizzically.

“The treats,” Steve says, schooling his expression again into something that leaves no room for argument. “Or whatever it is you’ve been feeding them. Cough ‘em up.”

“But—”

Steve gives him his Angry Captain Face (as Tony calls it), and Peter lowers his head in defeat, pulling off his backpack and reaching inside to pull out three heavy bags of differently-flavored dog treats. He hands them to Steve dejectedly, looking every bit as sad as the dogs who are undoubtedly missing their morning snacks right now.

He takes the bags from Peter, tucking them under his arm and then patting the boy’s head, ruffling his hair slightly before smoothing it back out, trying to tame his wild, windswept curls. Peter glances up at him shyly, still looking embarrassed and ashamed, and Steve tries to give him a reassuring smile, moving his hand to his shoulder and gently squeezing it.

“You can say hi to them on your way home from school,” he says, letting the authoritative tone slip from his voice, shifting it into something gentler, more affectionate. “But no more giving them food without their owners’ permission, okay?”

“Okay,” Peter says, eyeing the treats sadly.

“Good,” Steve smiles, patting his shoulder again before letting go. “Off you go, then. Don’t be late.”

Peter nods, slipping his backpack back on and heading to the stairs, quickly and obediently.

“Have a good day at school!” Steve calls after him, watching until the boy is out of sight, then making his way home, still carrying the treats. He’ll go online when he reaches the apartment, he decides, try and find the nearest shelter or dog rescue that he can donate the bags to, or give them away to someone else in need of them.

That’s how Bucky finds him later on, in the early afternoon, when he gets home from work; sitting at the table, frowning down at his laptop, the bags sitting next to the computer garishly.

“Hey,” Bucky says, tossing his keys into the bowl, then eyeing the dog treats warily. “Uh, what’s with the dog stuff? I thought we weren’t allowed pets here?”

“We’re not,” Steve says without looking up, fist curled up to his mouth as his eyes skim the webpage. “They’re Peter’s. Or, well, they _were,_ but I confiscated them.”

“…Huh?” Bucky asks, frowning at Steve confusedly as he pulls a bottle of water from the fridge. “Peter’s been eating dog food?”

“No,” says Steve, glancing up at Bucky and momentarily fixating on the man’s throat as he gulps down the water thirstily, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “He’s been giving them to strangers’ dogs without permission. And also missing the train to school in the morning. He’s had to use his web-shooters to make it there on time because he’s been too busy feeding every dog in the neighborhood.”

“Ha,” Bucky laughs, grinning fondly at the idea, completely missing the chagrined look Steve gives him. “Of course he has. I used to have to chase him down back in Queens when I didn’t know where he was, and I _always_ found him playing with somebody’s dog. I even found him hanging from a fence once. Kid’s obsessed.”

“Yeah, well,” Steve gazes back down at his laptop, letting his slight exasperation color his tone. “I told him to knock it off.”

There’s a beat of pregnant silence, then a surprised, incredulous, “You _what?”_

Raising an eyebrow questioningly, Steve looks back up and finds Bucky staring at him, eyes wide and confused, gawking like Steve just told him the most unbelievable thing he’s ever heard. “ _Why?”_

“What do you mean, ‘why’?” he asks, mirroring Bucky’s confusion. “He’s almost been late for school because he’s been wasting time feeding a dozen dogs!”

“But he _wasn’t_ late for school, was he?”

Steve glowers. “Only because he was openly using his superpowers to get there on time!”

“I’m sure he’s been careful,” Bucky says, almost glaring at Steve now, his frown tight across his face. “I can’t believe you told Peter not to pet _dogs._ That’s like telling a bird not to fly! It’s pretty much his only hobby, Steve, who do you think you _are?”_

“Uh,” Steve says, giving Bucky a flat look, his eyes narrowing defensively. “His _dad?_ I think I’m well within my rights to make sure he’s being responsible, Buck.”

Bucky’s face softens, his own frown slipping away as he takes in Steve’s penalized, defensive look. He sighs, pulling out the dining chair next to Steve and sitting down beside him, taking the man’s hand in his metal one.

“Listen to me,” he says, pausing until the other looks at him. “I know it just seems arbitrary to us, but doing things like spending time with dogs means more to Peter than even _I_ understand. It’s one of the few things that kid will actually go out of his way to do for _himself._ You know him, Steve. Does he ever act selfishly? Does he ever act—recklessly, or like a normal _kid,_ except for when it comes to this?”

Steve’s frown deepens, his eyebrows knitting together. After a moment, he shakes his head, gazing questioningly at Bucky, who only nods.

“Exactly. I don’t really know _what_ Peter gets out of it, but he gets something important, something fulfilling that even both of us _together_ haven’t been able to give him. You know how important school—and keeping his identity a secret, for that matter—is to him. Do you really think he’d jeopardize either of those things for something that wasn’t _extremely_ significant to him?”

Steve shakes his head again, and the questioning look on his face falls as a deep, horrible sense of realization starts to bubble, low in his gut.

“I don’t care if it’s just as simple as, ‘it makes him happy,’ Steve,” Bucky continues, tone severe. “This is the _one thing_ Peter actually acts his age about. You took that from him today.”

Guilt crashes over him like a devastating tidal wave. He cups his forehead in his free hand, elbow resting on the table, as the weight of Bucky’s words sinks in. “Shit,” he curses. Bucky’s right. Peter is—he’s the best kid Steve has ever met. He goes out of his way not to inconvenience others, even if it means sacrificing something he wants. Except for when it comes to this.

Like Bucky said, whatever Peter gets out of spending time with every dog he sees, it means more to him than either of them can understand. And Steve reprimanded him for it. “How do I fix this?”

Bucky gives him a small smile, sympathetic and reassuring. “You’ll think of something. Peter’s not the type to hold this against you, but you should still do something to make it up to him.”

Glancing at his laptop screen again, something catches Steve’s eye that has the defeated expression lifting from his face.

“I think I know just the thing.”  
  


* * *

  
At quarter after four on the dot, Steve is waiting patiently at the terminal as Peter’s train rolls up. It’s easy to spot him in his bright red hoodie, and Peter notices him, too, giving him a puzzled look as he breaks away from the crowd.

“Hey,” Peter says, jogging up to him, eyeing the large beach-bag in his hands curiously, and then giving Steve the same look. “What are you doing here?”

“Apologizing,” Steve says, smiling as he wraps an arm around Peter’s thin shoulders, leading him out of the subway. “Listen, Peter, about this morning—”

Peter goes rigid under his arm. “I’m sorry,” he says quickly, shame coloring his voice. “I know I screwed up—”

“No, Peter,” Steve interjects, lifting his hand to card through the boy’s hair instead, massaging his scalp. “ _I_ screwed up. Listen. I didn’t take _why_ you were doing what you were doing into account, and that wasn’t fair. I still stand by what I said—that you shouldn’t risk being late to school or feed other people’s animals without permission, _but—_ ” he sighs, hugging the boy close to his side again, steering them down a different street than the one that leads them home, to Peter’s bewilderment. “I still want you to pet every dog you see, okay? Even if it means waking up a little earlier so you have enough time on the way to school.”

“Uh,” Peter says, blinking owlishly, giving Steve a perplexed look. “Uhm, okay, thanks. Where, uhh—where are we going?”

Steve grins. “You’ll see.”

It’s another twenty minutes of walking before they arrive, the confused look not lifting from Peter’s face at all as he stares up at the sign, _Brooklyn Animal Rescue and Adoption Center,_ painted on the front of the old, brick building.

“Uhh…?”

“I was trying to find somewhere to donate the dog treats,” Steve says, gesturing with the beach-bag in his hand. “And I found an ad seeking volunteer dog-walkers and playmates. I thought, if you wanted to, this could be something we do together, a few times a week after school.”

Peter’s eyes are wide and shining, glancing back and forth between Steve’s face and the animal shelter in disbelief and anticipation. “Really?” he asks, excitement unmistakable in his tone.

“Yep,” Steve grins, ruffling his hair. “What do you say? Want to go make some friends?”

He isn’t even able to finish the question before Peter is rushing to the door, smiling ear-to-ear, so wide and bright and joyous that it melts Steve’s heart.

He loves being a dad.


End file.
